Quickening
by Llassah
Summary: “You two are going to work together. As a team. If you don’t, all will be lost. Any fighting will count for nothing, if you two are divided.” Dumbledore's portrait has a request for Harry.
1. Chapter 1

They wanted to take his wand. Bastards! What did they think he was going to do with it? Destroy the portrait?

"Mister Potter, are you trying to rival Alastor Moody for paranoia?"

McGonagall had been trying to persuade him for ten minutes. He had remained stubborn.

"Professor Dumbledore was adamant that you were not allowed up to speak to him until your wand had been removed. Now kindly grow up!"

"Fine. Ron, have my wand." He said curtly. Honestly. It had been six months since they had started off on their hunt, the things they had seen, it was hardly a surprise he trusted no one. And yet to McGonagall he was still twelve.

She sighed and stepped aside to admit him, obviously wishing she could say somtheing more. He was glad she didn't. His mind was still puzzling out why he had been summoned.. Why wake up now? What was there Dumbledore needed to tell him? They had abandoned a possible lead to get back to Hogwarts. _It had better be bloody worth it._ Harry thought grimly as he knocked on the door of the office that was once Albus Dumbledore's.

"Come in!" Came a cheery voice. Albus. Gods, it was as if he was still alive. He swallowed a lump in his throat and opened the door.

The first thing he saw was the portrait. It beamed merrily and waved to him, dressed in purple robes with silver stars. It was propped up against the desk. The second thing he saw was a man, sitting in one of the chairs in the office. A man he had resolved to kill, the next time the opportunity arose. Well, this was why his wand was taken away, he thought with a sort of icy detachment. Dumbledore _knew_ he'd react this way. Well, he'd been training. He'd have to use his bare hands.

He leapt the gap between him and Severus Snape, hands aiming straight for his throat, wanting only to kill, to destroy the man who had taken away two of the people he cared for the most. He was almost there, so close to him, seconds seemed to be hours, he could almost smell him, almost-

Then he was blocked by some sort of invisible barrier, sliding down to the floor, stunned momentarily, white-hot pain lancing through him. He seemed to be operating on instinct, commanded by blind rage. He took a few steps back, and leapt once more for the barrier, oblivious to Dumbledore's shouts from the portrait. This time, the pain was ten times worse, worse than the crucio, his eyes rolled back in his head and he lost consciousness.

The next time he came to, he was tied to a chair. His head felt like it had been trampled by Hippogriffs.

"Are you going to listen now, Harry?"

Dumbledore's voice was gentle, sorrowful almost. His eyes were disappointed. Harry suppressed the feeling of guilt; what reason did he have to trust Snape? How was he supposed to react? Give him a box of chocolates?

Harry nodded once, regretting the movement.

"What was that?" he asked in a croaky voice.

"Entirely necessary, dear boy."

Harry had meant the spell, but Dumbledore knew that. It was just another unanswered question in his long list. He gave up on that line of enquiry.

"Why do you need to see me please?" Harry asked, keeping his voice polite. He was glad to see Dumbledore, really he was, but he couldn't see the point of a complete traitor and all-round bastard being there as well.

"I have a request. For both of you."

The glare Harry sent Snape's way was answered with a cold sneer, but there was no malicious triumph in his eyes. He clearly had no more idea of this 'request' than Harry.

Dumbledore waited patiently until they had finished, then continued.

"You two are going to work together. As a team. If you don't, all will be lost. Any fighting will count for nothing, if you two are divided."

For once, Harry sympathised with Snape's expression of fury.

"Why? Why the hell are you going to make me do this? After all I've done, all I've given up!" Snape was white, his eyes like fire filled tunnels, voice no more than a whisper.

What had Dumbledore made him do? He'd killed the man! How was that going to make Dumbledore in his debt? Still, there seemed to be something going on there. Harry observed them both, their expressions, Dumbledore's serious but resolute, Snape's almost…tormented.

"Why couldn't you have left me in peace? Left me to fade." he asked, shaking, weary.

But he was an accomplished actor, Harry reasoned against the stab of sympathy that he felt for the man. He could be laughing inside for all that Harry knew. But for all that Harry didn't know, he might really be feeling like that. Damn Hermione. He'd started to think about and analyse _everything!_ Things were far simpler when he could just hate utterly, without thought.

"Could someone please explain what's going on?" he asked, hating the note of petulance in his voice. Both turned to him, making him feel like an outsider.

"What's going on, Potter, is that you and I are expected to work together as a team to win this war. Didn't you understand that much?" Snape's voice was filled with bitterness.

_Fine, take it out on me. I didn't bloody ask for this, you know._ He stayed silent. Let Snape start the argument; he wasn't playing.

"Sir, are you telling me that Sn- Professor- he- is not a complete traitor?"

"Yes, Harry, that is exactly what I'm telling you." Dumbledore beamed, his eyes twinkled, and Harry wished more than anything that he was truly alive.

"I suppose you're not going to explain, are you, Sir?"

"Right again, Harry. It's between-"

"You and Snape." Harry finished for him, unsurprised. Even when he was dead, he kept his secrets. And they would work together. They had to, if it was what was needed to win the war. Whatever it made Harry feel, they needed to. Because if they didn't, Voldemort had won. _Well, I thought things were going a bit too smoothly for me_ Harry thought philosophically. _Bollocks_ he thought slightly less philosophically.

"Fine. I work with him. But we need ground rules." Harry said firmly. Dumbledore nodded, seeming surprised he had acquiesced this soon. "We treat each other with respect. He treats my friends with respect. He divulges nothing of our activities to Voldemort, or anyone on his side. We help each other. He does not withhold information that would aid me in my search. We do not force information out of each other. We respect each other's privacy."

"Anything else?" Snape asked sarcastically, arms folded, clearly angry Harry had the gall to agree. The rug was rather pulled out from under his feet, now. Harry would have felt triumph, but the victory was hollow.

"No snoring."

A/NI got bitten on the backside by a plot bunny. Evil little creatures. I felt like writing a 'Snape is a complete and utter bastard, but heck, that's why we love him so much' fic. Apologies if this idea has been used before. And no, I'm not abandoning Redemption. So, does it have potential? Llassah xxxxx


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Harry was angry. Very angry. Once more, his choices were being taken from him. He was becoming a tool once more, forced to do something he didn't want to. He was sacrificing his comfort and happiness for the sake of the greater good. And because it was the greater good, he couldn't refuse. Dumbledore had him by the bollocks. He had gone into the situation with only the illusion of a choice. How the hell was he meant to tolerate Snape, the man who was partly responsible for the deaths of both his parents and Sirius, and fully responsible for the death of Dumbledore? How was he meant to trust him, even? He had no reason to, really. Save for the fact that he had had plenty of opportunities to kill him, but didn't. Even when he could have. Even when he was doomed already for the murder of Dumbledore. Even when he was so much stronger than Harry that his curses were deflected like the man was swatting flies. He growled. Why the bloody hell couldn't things be simple as black and white? Far less thinking then.

He climbed the stairs to the guest quarters they had been allocated. He really didn't look forward to telling Ron and Hermione.

He spoke the password to the portrait of the wizard in a frilly dress and climbed through the hole. Ron and Hermione were sat together looking at an ancient battered looking book, in companionable silence. He was sorry to have to disturb their rest; they had all been through so much…

_Out with it, Potter_ he chided himself, and cleared his throat. They both turned around to look at him.

"What happened? What did they want?"

Hermione looked concerned. He probably looked as mad as he felt. With an effort, he suppressed the anger, and tried to smile comfortingly.

"Dumbledore's portrait has awoken. It would seem that we have to work with Snape to win the war. He will be with us from now until the end." Harry clenched and unclenched his jaw, willing himself calm.

The look on their faces would have been hilarious if he hadn't felt so furious. There were twin looks of horror on their faces, Hermione had put her hand to her mouth in shock.

"So you're saying we have to work with that- that" Ron gave up thinking of a swearword for him, and settled for making a rude gesture. "Here's your wand, by the way." He threw the wand, and Harry caught it.

"Thanks." He said, trying once more to smile.

"So he didn't…well, he isn't…he couldn't have…I mean, if he had…well, then he wouldn't have…" Hermione ran out of steam. Harry had never heard her stammer that much. Suddenly he couldn't bear to be there, he had to escape, to get rid of some energy.

"I have to go fly. I'll be back soon." He said tersely, grabbing his broom from where it was propped up and starting to run. He only just heard Hermione's call of

"Be careful!" as he scooted down corridors, turning left and right, leaping down the steps three at a time, flinging open the door of the entrance hall and finally he was free, outside, then in the air, higher and higher, until he was above all his problems, in the driving rain and wind.

Here he could just be. He felt safe and comfortable here. He could soar, and dive down until he was nearly touching the ground, until it looked as if he would hit the ground, then at the last possible moment pull back and climb again. He could fly in loops, circles, upside down, vertically, could go so fast he felt as if he was leaving his heart behind. He could forget, for a few blessed minutes, that he was Harry Potter, the person who was supposed to save everyone. He could forget those who had died so he could continue to shoulder the burden. He could forget that he was supposed to do something that seemed utterly impossible.

But reality came calling, along with a numbing cold that seeped into his bones, and his sodden hair and clothes. But the anger had gone. He could talk to Snape without wanting to throttle him. He could accept what he had to do with something approaching forbearance. He went back inside to join Ron and Hermione, back into the warmth and their friendship.

"Harry, you're soaking!"

He rolled his eyes. She was turning into Molly Weasley!

"S'ok, I don't get colds," he said, still not turning into the room. He propped his Firebolt up and shook his head, grinning and Ron's protests as the droplets scattered.

"Well well, turning into a dog are we, Potter?"

Warmth and friendship. Yeah. Sod that for a game of soldiers. Here Snape was, insulting both him and Sirius, and he had only been there for a minute.

He performed a quick drying charm, contemplated trying to tame his hair, but gave it up as a losing battle. It was only when he was sure he was composed and presentable that he turned to face Snape

He was leaning against the fireplace, the light from the fire making the hollows of his face even more pronounced. The man looked ill, malnourished. It was hardly surprising, as the man had been a fugitive for six months. Harry wondered fleetingly where Draco was, but decided he was probably safe somewhere. Or a Death Eater. Or dead.

Ron and Hermione were still poring over the book, but by the glances Ron kept shooting at Snape, words had been said. Words which probably weren't 'been anywhere nice on your holidays?'

"Finished gawping yet?" Snape sneered coldly.

"Yes, thanks. Have you eaten yet?"

Harry decided to kill with kindness. _I'll be damned if Snape gets the better of me and makes me lose this bloody war _he resolved grimly. It certainly caught him off balance. But his composure was swiftly regained, and he shook his head. Harry looked questioningly at Ron and Hermione. Both shook their heads.

"Kitchen raid?" he suggested with a grin. Hermione sighed disapprovingly.

"You're not a naughty student any more, Harry. You're a guest. You can ask the House Elves."

Not a student any more. He had spent six months trying not to miss Hogwarts, but he couldn't. It had been the only place he was happy. And although he seemed to spend most of his time trying not to get killed, he had loved it. Returning was a bittersweet experience, a reminder of what he had lost, and what had to be saved.

"Dobby?" he called softly.

"Master Harry! Dobby is glad to see you! So tall, so grown up!"

He had a job to stop himself tripping as his knees were caught in a death grip by the hero-worshipping elf.

Once Dobby had remembered himself, he released Harry.

"What is Harry Potter wanting from Dobby?" he asked with a bow.

"Some dinner would be good please, for four people."

Dobby looked around to see who else was there. He waved to Hermione and Ron, but when he saw Snape, he looked taken aback, then…respectful. Snape stayed silent, expression neutral, but gave the elf a small bow. Harry was beyond confused, as Dobby returned the bow and disappeared. _Great. Another mystery._

He could see Hermione was itching to ask what was going on, but she didn't. He decided to let the man have his secrets. Hell, there was more than enough to find out without this on top of it.

The meal was far from comfortable. No one spoke, Harry was sure he was eating like a yokel, or spilling food down his front. Snape made him feel small and insignificant, however often he reminded himself he was seventeen, and powerful. He could even have made Petunia Dursley feel as if her house was a pigsty! He sniggered at the idea, earning a quizzical look from Ron.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, just thinking about Aunt Petunia." He answered, still smiling at the thought of Snape sneering at her dusting skills.

"What's so funny about her, Harry?" Ron sounded bemused. Harry just smiled and returned his attention to the important task of eating.

Once they were finished, and the plates had cleared themselves, Harry walked over to the pile of parchments, maps and scrolls and brought them to the table.

"How much do you know about what we hope to accomplish?" he asked Snape bluntly.

"You intend to kill The Dark Lord." He answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Harry gritted his teeth. Clearly he either didn't know or wasn't telling.

"Eventually, yes, that is the masterplan. But to kill him isn't all that simple."

Snape raised an eyebrow, as if asking what on earth _he _was meant to do about it. Harry continued.

"It's not his body that needs to be destroyed, it's his soul. All seven bits of it."

No expression. Merlin, the man could play poker!

"These soul pieces, fragmented through the act of murder, are stored in items across the country. Significant items, in significant places. Significant but hard to find, let alone reach. We've spent the past six months trying to find ways to pinpoint these places. I know more about Voldemort than anyone should." His beloved enemy. He was forced to think about him constantly, to dream about him, to wonder what he was doing. It was like being in love without the warm fuzziness. It haunted him.

"And so in these six months, what have you discovered?"

"That magic leaves a trace." He answered simply. Snape's nostrils flared impatiently.

"Magic has a signature. With proper training, the signature of each person's magic can be detected." His training had involved being almost starved to death and poked with a stick by a shaman. Among other things. But it had been necessary. How proper it was, Harry didn't know, but it had done the trick. Snape nodded impatiently. _So you know all that then? What a surprise._ "A Horcrux is an item so attuned to its creator that it can be seen as a bright flare. It even leaves a residue of magic behind it. And what we need to do is get to a place where the flares can be seen."

"So you trained then."

Don't ask. Please don't ask. Harry nodded.

"See, the shamans don't do these things for nothing. They ask for something in return. What did you give him, Potter?" His voice was soft, wicked, dark as velvet. He knew. He just wanted him to admit it. Harry stayed silent, staring at the table cloth.

"I thought you preferred girls, Potter. What a surprise."

He looked up, startled, and Snape caught his eyes.

_Hands, clawing, a sharp pain, then an ache, a deep throbbing ache that threatened to engulf him, red sparks behind his eyes, degradation, shame, spicy as pepper-_

He broke away, panting, waiting for Snape to spill his secret, to tell them, to make them look at him with pity. But he didn't. He just sat there, with that cold smile on his face. Another weapon. And they weren't even meant to still be fighting.

"What the hell do you want, Snape? Why do you even pretend to be on our side, when all you've done so far is belittle me? Why don't you just fuck off back to Voldemort, help him win, and leave us alone to keep trying? _What do you want?"_

He was breathing hard, at some point in his speech, he had stood up, and his fist was clenched around his wand.

"What I want, Potter, is a quiet life. I want to just be left alone to live out the rest of my days however I damn well please. I don't want to teach, I don't want to spy, I don't want people to intrude. I would be perfectly content with a potions laboratory. I would die quietly, alone, at peace. But instead I have to fight again. I have to balance the demands of two masters again. And when it is finished, I'm fucked anyway, because the Ministry will want me in Azkaban, so they can forget what happened. I will spend the rest of my life imprisoned, hated, or a fugitive. So please forgive my lack of enthusiasm, Potter, but I have absolutely nothing to gain from tagging along with three whiny adolescents!"

That sounded like what Harry wanted. Just to be left alone. He had expected, well, he didn't know what he'd expected. Snape to demand the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, or compulsory potions lessons. Nothing so…human. His anger left him. He slumped wearily at the table, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Then I'll keep you out of Azkaban. If I win, I'll probably be some kind of golden boy anyway." He said wryly. "They'll try to make me minister, or something. But I'll keep you out of the headlines if that's what you want. You can be left alone; I could probably ensure that as well. I'll free you of all obligations, to me or the Order. Just stay with us until we've lost or won. You'll be fine either way."

Snape nodded. "I agree to your terms. Do your part, and I'll do mine."

Harry offered his hand, to seal the bargain. After a few moments, Snape took it. They shook.

"So what are you proposing to do then?" Snape asked, sounding mildly curious.

Harry smiled slowly, wickedly.

"We're going to climb a mountain. A really big one."

A/N, this won't be slash. This update would have been sooner, but my computer's a scrote. Ah well.


	3. Chapter 3

Previously…

"_So what are you proposing to do then?" Snape asked, sounding mildly curious._

_Harry smiled slowly._

"_We're going to climb a mountain. A really big one."_

Snape blinked once. Then twice.

"I'm sorry, Potter, I must be mistaken, but I thought you said something about climbing a mountain."

"I did. We're going to climb a mountain." Harry said it as if it was the obvious thing to do.

"Explain." He commanded tersely.

"Explain before I completely lose hope of you having any sort of sanity at all."

It was so fun to rile Snape. His eyes went all narrow, and there was this tiny muscle twitch he got in his jaw.

"Hermione, would you explain please?" He asked. He really was bad at this part of the plan, although it was a collaborative effort. Hermione nodded.

"As the Horcrux flares are visible, with this training, we need a vantage point. We need to get to a height where we can see the whole of Britain, and map it. We need to climb-"

"Merlin's needle." Snape said, voice quiet and mesmerising, talking as if to himself. "The highest point in Britain, hidden from Muggles, only climbed by a few wizards. Many have been driven mad by it, many have been lost on its slopes. Others hear its call, and will not stop until they have climbed it. Their families can lock them up for years, and the desire will never leave them. But sight and vision comes on that mountain. Of both sorts." His eyes focussed once more, his voice became immediate and crisp.

"There is no other way, Potter? Is this the only way this can be accomplished, or have you been beguiled as well?" His lip curled in scorn "Do you sacrifice your cause for your desire?"

Harry didn't know. That was why he had researched so thoroughly. That was why he had looked into every other option. But he _was_ beguiled. He had only suggested the mountain to Hermione. He hadn't said it was the right or wrong this to do. He hadn't told her how it had been haunting his dreams, how sure he was that he needed to climb it. It was going to be dangerous. No magic could be used on its slopes; it somehow blocked any spells. They would have to climb it the muggle way. There were unknown trials ahead if they did climb it. But Hermione and Ron had come to the decision that it was the only way. If they hadn't, Harry would have abided by their choice.

"Look at our research. My desires have nothing to do with what needs to be done. But if you can see another way, a better way, tell us and we'll leave the mountain alone." It cost him so much to say that! He wanted to just tell Snape they were going ahead, no matter what he said, to insist, to force, but he couldn't. He owed Hermione and Ron more than that. He indicated the large pile of scrolls and books they had accumulated in their quest. Some of the texts had been banned by the ministry; some he had could get arrested for. Most were irreplaceable. All provided Snape with the means to potentially destroy him once and for all, whether by telling the Ministry or Voldemort his plans.

Hermione and Ron looked aghast, bewildered.

"Harry, what are you doing? Are you mad?" Ron half shouted, forgetting Snape was in the room. "How the hell do you know you can trust him?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't." he said quietly. "Can we trust you?" he asked Snape. Did it matter if they could?

"I don't know. Can you?" Snape sounded detached, dispassionate. Why didn't he care? Why wasn't he proving himself, or something? If he had been Pettigrew, he'd have been kissing Harry's robes by now, a snivelling pleading mess.

"Dumbledore does. You must have proved your loyalty to him or something." He was clutching at straws here. Dumbledore had been no more forthcoming with that information the last time they had spoken. But Snape's reaction surprised him. The man started to laugh. It was not a nice laugh. It wasn't happy and warm like Hagrid's, or high and cold ,like Voldemort's. It was a bit like Sirius's had been, a sort of desperate amusement, the humour to be found when there was nothing else one could do but laugh. It was hard to listen to.

"Proved my loyalty. That's rich. Shall I tell you why Albus fucking Dumbledore believed me? It's a lovely heart-warming story. One to tell your children. Filled with glory and a testimony to the redemptive power of humanity. Do you want to know how the renowned wizard, fearless advocate of all that is good and right determined what to do? _He_ _tossed a coin. _He decided my future by tossing a knut in the air. Heads, I was good, tails, I was bad." His voice was full of bitter self deprecation.

Harry was beyond shocked. How could Dumbledore have treated the safety of the wizarding world in such a way?

"But that's such a haphazard way of deciding! It's not at all reliable, what if you were evil, he should have-" Hermione was interrupted mid-flow.

"My goodness or evilness is irrelevant, Granger. The end is the same. I would still have been a double agent. The same information would have been passed to the same side. The outcome would have been the same."

"But it's wrong! Good should fight for good, bad should fight for bad!" she protested. Still an innocent, really.

"That's a bit discriminatory." Snape said with a slight smirk. Harry and Ron both suppressed laughs. Hermione rounded on them.

"Don't you think it's wrong then?" she glared.

Harry sighed. Once, when the villains wore black robes and carried masks, he would have answered 'yes' without hesitation. But evil could wear a caring face as well.

"It's wrong to treat one man's life with such a cavalier attitude. He was wrong to do that. It devalues choice and rational decision. He was as good as telling you it didn't matter what you really felt. Trust should be earned by actions, not by the act of flipping a coin." He met Snape's eyes, wanting him to see he really thought that. He didn't want Snape to think he pitied him for Dumbledore's treatment of him.

Hermione, however, was outraged. "You mean you don't care if he's good or evil? Harry, that's awful! You should care!"

"Enough!" Snape shouted, face stern, forbidding. He caught Hermione's eyes with his own and held them, enunciating each word softly, dangerously.

"Miss Granger, soon you will learn that good and evil are just convenient boxes people use. Soon you will learn that darkness is not necessarily harmful. Soon you will learn that it is not as simple as black or white. When your illusions have been sufficiently removed, then I will have a conversation with you on comparative ethics. Until then, I'm not going to bother arguing with a naïve child who thinks that books are the only source of knowledge she will ever need."

With that, he stood, picked up the pile of research, and left the room. Hermione sat there, stunned, eyes filling with tears.

"Am I naïve?" she asked him, face oddly determined despite her shaking with suppressed sobs.

"No. You're just not as hardened and disappointed by the world as Snape is. You see something that needs to be changed, and you try to change it. The notion of failure isn't one that enters your head. And I wouldn't have you disillusioned and weary. Never."

"Why was he like that then?"

Harry hardly ever saw doubt in her eyes. He relied on her to be certain, and he hated to see her hurt. He thought carefully about how to answer her. Ron had put an arm around her and was gently stroking her hair with his other hand, but she seemed to be looking to him for comfort as well.

"Because you remind him of himself before he went to Voldemort. He probably saw the Dark Arts as an academic exercise and evil as a philosophical question. And then he found that it wasn't as simple as that. Certainty isn't a luxury you can afford in this game, Hermione. I learnt that after sixth year, from Draco Malfoy and Snape. You remind him of when he could simply do what he thought of as the correct thing. It's painful to be reminded how much you've changed."

"When did you start thinking, Harry?" Ron sounded awed, effectively breaking the tension in the room. He was good at that, Harry had noticed; once he started actually paying attention to Hermione in 6th year, his intuition had grown, and diffusing tense situations had saved their skins on more than one occasion. Harry grinned and punched him lightly on the arm.

"Maybe Hermione's finally having an effect on me." He said with mock smugness. "Maybe," he added with a straight face "I'll read 'Hogwarts: A History" Ron gasped, shocked, and Hermione managed a watery smile.

Her spirits lifted, she managed to look disapproving as Harry and Ron deliberately started a very animated conversation about Quidditch strategy, and whether or not keepers were the most important member of the team. When Hermione had recovered enough to start muttering about 'Typical men', Harry saw it was ok to leave it. When things festered in her mind undealt with, it did no good whatsoever.

"Bed now. Both of you." He said firmly. Ron mock saluted, but they went through into their bedchamber, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. He walked over to the fireplace, summoned a cushion, and sat down, staring into the flames.

Snape had actually talked to him as he would to an adult, with fewer slurs on his intellect and parentage than he had expected. He had listened as well, and not completely dismissed him. He had seemed to recognise how Harry had grown over the past six months. But the cost of maturity had been higher than Ron or Hermione knew. And Snape, if he wasn't careful, would find out more than he had already. And Harry couldn't for the life of him work out what Snape would do with the information.

Dumbledore's actions had left him wondering as well. He had felt sorry for Snape before, after the Penseive incident, but he had never empathised with him before. How would he have felt in that position? How cheaply Snape must view his morality. But Dumbledore was still a great man. He had defeated Grindewald, he was wise, he didn't bow down to pressure from the Ministry, he…

He condemned a man by not speaking out for them. He condemned Snape to being hated and reviled. Whatever had really transpired on the tower, Dumbledore didn't bother to ensure Snape's safety. He could have been captured and killed. _He_ could have killed Snape. If he had been twenty times more powerful. Or was Snape somehow protected by something? What? How?

"Need to stop thinking" he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair.

"I agree. You'll ruin your looks." Snape was standing behind him, the parchments still in his hands. His voice didn't have the usual bite in it. He sat down next to Harry in front of the fire.

"This research is thorough." He said stiffly, awkwardly. The compliment was hard earned; he only usually praised Slytherins. Snape must be convinced. He could have said no, could have dismissed his plans, and Harry would have gone by what he said. A knot of tension Harry hadn't been aware of loosened.

"But would you have been so thorough if you hadn't been called to the mountain?"

Harry contemplated lying. If he avoided Snape's eyes, he could sound convincing.

"No." he found himself saying. "Please don't tell Ron and Hermione."

"Deceit, Potter? Hiding things already?" Snape looked amused.

"But you know. So I'm not hiding."

"That's sophistry, and you know it, Potter." Snape said sternly. "You have to unburden yourself. It's not healthy to bottle things up. As you discovered in your fifth year."

Snape noticed Harry's flinch, but didn't comment. Harry found himself laughing.

"Severus Snape, new advocate of getting in touch with ones feelings."

Snape seemed about to make a sarcastic response, or rebuke him for insolence, but didn't, even smiling slightly.

"I don't want them to worry about me. They will anyway, but without evidence."

"And that's better? Your grasp of logic astounds me, Potter."

"It's better." He said emphatically. He stared back into the flames, trying not to remember.

"You've changed, Potter. I wonder what your father would think." Snape mused, but the comment wasn't sarcastic or vitriolic. He sounded genuinely curious.

"He'd hate it."

"What makes you say that?" Snape's voice was carefully neutral.

"I'm not being very…Gryffindorish." Harry found it hard to put into words, but the boy he had seen in the penseive had seemed unyielding in his beliefs. His contempt of the Dark Arts would have set him and Harry at odds.

"He died before he grew up properly. You have no way of knowing what he'd have thought. If you're going by what you saw in your fifth year, you haven't the full picture."

"But I thought you hated him!" Harry said, confused.

"Yup, I thought he was complete arsehole, no redeeming qualities whatsoever," Snape sounded peculiarly cheerful about this "but there's no fun in hating a dead man. Besides, I had more revenge for that than I ever wanted, one way or another." There was no triumph in this admission. Although Harry still thought Snape was a vindictive, ornery bastard, who judged him by who his father was, he didn't seem as evil as Harry had thought. He was still unreadable, still in many ways a complete mystery to Harry, but he wasn't a distant figure of hate any more. It was easier to hate, to judge, to assume. Easier to look no further than appearances. Easier to see things as one thing or another. But it wasn't what was easy that mattered. It was what was right.

A/N- Redemption is on hold at the moment. I am going to continue it, but it's still in the notebook phase currently.

Reviews are appreciated a lot. I know people are reading this, but would like to know what I could be doing more (or less) of. Thank you to those who have already reviewed.

Llassah

xxxxx


	4. Chapter 4

"_So you really want this? You want to learn this skill? To be able to see magic without a wand, to trace it to its source is a great power. With it, you can have the whole world in your sights. But what are you willing to give up? Your life?"_

"_My life is not mine to give."_

"_Something else then. Something you treasure. One of your friends, who travelled with you here?"_

"_Their lives are not mine to give."_

"_So bold, so brave. Noble, self sacrificing. You have already paid a high price for coming this far. Many have been lost along the way to you. But there is more you can pay. More you can give."_

"_What?"_

"_The last remains of your innocence. Anything else you would give unthinkingly. Anything else you would offer freely. It is who you are. But this will be a high price. It will haunt you through the years. The vision you seek will not seem like an easy thing to bear, knowing what was taken in return. Do you want this?"_

"_Yes."_

He hadn't understood what was being asked. Not truly. He thought it meant nothing. He thought that it would be simple, straightforward, hurt a little perhaps, but there would be no emotion. It was only a little part of him, after all. It was only his virginity. Only a penetration, a few minutes of discomfort, then it would be over, and he could go on with his life. He had expected clinical coldness. He had expected to close his eyes, to think of England. Not to be tied up. Not to be blindfolded. Not to be made to actually beg for it, to call him 'master', to pretend he liked it. Not to be made to feel pleasure against his will, to feel both ecstasy and utter shame. Not to be caressed when it was over, like the man doing this was hurting him out of love. Not for it to be a grotesque parody of lovemaking. Not to have his mind as well as his body pillaged, defiled, raped. He understood now. It was too late, but he understood.

And he didn't know if he would have paid the price for it if he had known. He didn't know if the dreams he had about it would have put him off, let alone the guilt. Let alone the midnight awakening, the staring out into the darkness and wondering if he was ever going to sleep properly again.

As three o'clock arrived, Harry gave up the sleep thing. Swearing, he got out of bed, pulled on his jeans, boots and jumper, and started to walk, with no idea of where he was really going, simply following his feet where they took him.

He ended up on the battlements, staring out over the Hogwarts grounds. The moon had set, but the stars shone brightly in the clear cold sky. His breath misted out and Harry hugged his arms around his body for warmth, wondering why he had neglected to bring along a cloak. He could have cast a warming charm, but he preferred instead to endure it; the cold occupied his thoughts, drawing them away from his nightmare, and to his physical state.

As he gazed out, he allowed his guard to relax, and slowly became attuned to being able to see the magic that centuries worth of wizards had imprinted onto Hogwarts. He could feel it thrumming, just below the surface, like the echo of a harp string. So much power, so many people. Threads woven about each other, some faded, some clear, all different colours, woven about each other, magic attracting magic, until the wisps were spun like knotted chord against a soft light, the magic of Hogwarts as a background to this weaving, all gold and shimmering.

Here and there, he could see familiar people's magic; Hermione's was sky blue, Ron's (to Harry's amusement) was maroon. He saw his as well, green laced with silver marking his path, his progress. Sometimes, his would cross with Riddle's, black and red, and the colours would melt into each other in mesmerising swirls and knots that seemed to be tugging his mind into their patterned depths. He looked at one of them for too long, and felt his will ebb away as he gazed deep, deep into the abyss. He couldn't seem to move, nothing mattered but following the pattern round and round until all that existed in his mind was the maze, until he became the maze. He seemed to forget where he was, who he was, seeming to hang, suspended for what felt like an eternity. Then there was another Presence, all black and silver, filled with power, shaking him, calling him back to his own mind and reality, away from the siren song of the knot. With an effort, he pulled himself back from the brink, and returned to his body.

When he opened his eyes, he was on the floor, gasping for breath, with the mother of all headaches blossoming in his temples from the mental effort it took. The pull of the pattern seemed to be increasing as he became better at seeing the magic. Worried, he ran a hand through his hair and sat back against the wall.

He looked up, wondering who it was that had saved him. Snape stood there in a heavy black cloak, carrying a lantern. He handed him a flask. Harry took a sip. It was just water, though he had wondered for a few moments if it was poison, or even vodka. He didn't know which he would have rathered at the moment.

"Thanks. You saved me. Again." He said hoarsely. Snape only grunted in acknowledgement, and accepted the flask Harry handed back to him. He was so tired! It didn't seem to be worth getting up from where he was sat.

"Is it always that demanding?" There was a faint note of concern in Snape's voice, but Harry concluded he must be imagining it.

"Only when one gets trapped into it. Certain wizards, when their paths cross create a sort of force thingy."

"A sort of force thingy. Clearly an example of what magical education can do to develop minds."

Harry contemplated a one finger salute, but decided it was too childish.

"What colour was Grindewald's magic?" he asked, a thought occurring to him.

"Why would I know that? And why do you want to know?"

"Well, if he and Dumbledore fought, then there must have been a pattern where their paths crossed." He explained. He wanted to know if he would feel the same force when he looked at their encounters.

"Their…relationship was more distant."

"Yeah, because me and Voldemort are expecting our fourth kid soon. We're calling it Scumspawn." Harry retorted.

Snape scowled and leaned back on the wall, arms folded.

"You have a link with him. Dumbledore and Grindewald hardly knew each other really. You and he in many ways are similar."

"Thanks." Harry said flatly. It was one of the things that scared him most about this damn war, the idea that he really wasn't all that different from his adversary. To have Snape say it made him think it wasn't just an irrational idea. Then, Snape actually liked potions. So maybe they were both criminally insane. Heck, they should probably be sharing a cell in St. Mungos. Harry sniggered slightly.

"You think I'm joking?"

Dammit, the man was so defensive!

"No. I don't. Our upbringings are in many ways similar, and we can both speak Parseltongue. Was he any good at Quidditch?" Harry needed to have something he didn't, just a little thing even. Some skill he could say wasn't directly from his mortal enemy, gift wrapped in a nice little lightning bolt scar.

"Absolutely abysmal. No aptitude whatsoever. Ended up hexing the flying instructor. But she could sit down after a few weeks."

"Good." Harry said firmly.

"Oh, she was an old bag, by all accounts, not need to worry about her. I'm sure she would have found your concern touching, however. So magnanimous of you, I'm sure."

Snape seemed to be deliberately misinterpreting his comments, in a manner calculated to be at his most offensive. Harry narrowed his eyes and glared.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, goaded by him. Snape raised his eyebrows.

"Ah good. You've snapped out of your self indulgent depression, at any rate. Welcome back to the real world, Potter."

"I wasn't depressed!" Harry protested. How dare he even infer it! And self indulgent. He had no time for self indulgent.

"You. Were. Depressed. You came out of your chamber with a face like a slapped arse, not even bothering to put on a cloak, you came to one of the highest points in the school, you stood and leaned over the edge, and you allowed yourself to be pulled into a magic that you find both distasteful and difficult. Now stop lying to yourself, Potter, the sooner you do, the sooner you can begin to fight the Dark Lord. You need a proper night's sleep, and you need to start talking to your friends. Otherwise we're screwed."

Bastard! That bloody wanker had the audacity to tell him how to live his sodding life! And he had said that they were-

He had included himself on their side. It was a slip, spoken in anger, without thought, but that meant he was on their side. He had said it! Ha! Harry suddenly found himself grinning like a loon. Ha! A little voice in his head started to chant '_Snapey isn't e-vil, Snapey isn't e-vil'_

"Yup. You're right. I'm depressed. And I need sleep, which I'd be getting if it wasn't for these sodding nightmares, but still, and I'll tell Ron and Hermione, and-"

"Potter. You're babbling." Snape sounded bemused. Harry wasn't surprised, the switch from apathy to anger to euphoria was swift. He kept his mouth shut, but couldn't stop smiling.

"I don't suppose you're enlighten me as to the cause of that frankly alarming grin which is currently plastered over your face."

"You said 'we'. You said 'we're screwed'. That means something. You included yourself on our side."

"So you're happy about that." His eyebrows were threatening to ascend into his forehead.

"Of course I want you on our side! Because frankly, you're bloody terrifying; I don't know if I could ever fight you, I mean Voldemort's a bit of a tall order, all you'd have to do was frown at me and call me 'Mister Potter, and I'd drop my bloody wand, and I'm babbling again, I know."

Snape seemed to be trying not to laugh

"Let's get you inside, Potter. Before you tell me everything about yourself. Fascinating though I'm sure that would be."

Harry nodded, realising how cold he actually was outside. He let Snape steer him inside.

"I mean, if I started to tell you about all the rules we've broken, and the times we've sneaked about and-

Did you put veritaserum in that water, Professor?" he asked suspiciously.

"No, that's the mental strain speaking, Potter."

"I'm cracking up. I knew it!"

"Yes, Potter. Only explanation. So, tell me about all this rule breaking then…"

"mmf. Not speaking."

Snape said nothing

"You really want to know?"

"Well, there was this time, when we-"

A/N hee hee. No, Snape didn't spike his drink. He just a bit on the strained side. Which is unsurprising really. Though Harry is funner to write mad. Look at 'Wingbroken' (on my favourites list) for a truly brilliant Harry's a wingnut fic. Harry drunk would probably be fun as well. Thank you beautiful review people. I'm a feedback whore, truly I am! Hehe.

And I hope the flashback was done ok. I think that although the act of rape is reprehensible in itself, to make the victim feel some measure of physical enjoyment fucks it up even more.

Scumspawn as a name is from Old Harry's game, a radio show on radio 4. Which is brilliantly funny, as Andy Hamilton is a bloody genius, and I want his children. Even if he does look like a gnome. Ahem.

Llassah

xxxxxxx


	5. Chapter 5

"Let. Me. Sleep." Harry gritted the words out, keeping his voice soft with an effort. It had been a day and another night since he had last rested. Snape had forced him to stay awake, made him stay active; to sustain focus for what seemed like an impossible amount of time. Snape, damn his eyes, was still wide awake, having taken a yellow potion the previous morning that had fizzed and bubbled ominously, but seemed to sustain him, keeping his mental faculties and magic as strong as they had ever been.

Snape seemed to contemplate this, building up the embers of hope in Harry's heart, then, cruelly, dashing them with a shake of his head.

"Even if I begged? If I pleaded with you, kissed the hem of your robes, acted like a snivelling coward?"

Another shake.

"So, remind me again. Why the fuck aren't you letting me sleep?"

Snape sighed impatiently, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Because, Potter, you are a ticking time bomb at the moment. You need to sleep properly, and this may be the way to do it."

"May be the way? You aren't bloody sure?" His voice was rising.

"Nothing, Potter, is certain. You, of all people, should know that, considering the calamitous errors of judgement you yourself have made"

_Of course, selling your soul to a fucking megalomaniac_ _mass murderer with a penchant for torture was the well-considered choice of the fucking century, you arsewank._

He didn't voice this thought, though. Some things could never be unsaid. Instead, he swore at length, vehemently, using a mix of English and parseltongue.

"Such a temper, Potter. And such appalling manners. Did no one teach you etiquette? Oh, I forgot. You lived with those muggles. I doubt they taught you anything, did they? Do you know how to behave in polite company? Can you eat politely? Did they even let you eat with them, or did you eat whatever scraps they had left for you? Dumbledore knew exactly how they treated you, you know."

Snape said this offhandedly, conversationally. One of the windows broke, and the water in the jug started to bubble and fizz. "He knew every unkind word they said to you. Every time you were hit, or starved, or called, what was it? Oh yes, a freak. He left you there, to grow up a pathetic unloved little child! And would he have intervened if they had done worse? Would he have stopped Vernon if he had beaten you, or raped you?"

Harry flinched, feeling every word like a blow. A crack started to show on one of the walls, and a deep ominous rumbling could be heard. "Although I suppose you've had worse done to you, haven't you? And you try to tell yourself it was worth it even when you can hardly sleep for nightmares, and the addiction to it is so strong you almost get pulled into it. And yet the noble, self sacrificing Harry Potter

_can_ throw away his health and the wizarding world because he enjoys pain."

Anything that remained of Harry's self control went. He had had enough of trying not to hurt Snape, had enough of keeping his temper and appearing happy. _Fine. _He thought grimly, as all the remaining panes of glass shattered. _He asked for it. He knew what would happen, and he just kept on prodding. He could have left me alone. He could have been sensible. _He could feel the sheer force of the magic and anger he had restrained within him. It was immense, powerful, deadly. It would probably kill both him and Snape. He weighed it, measured it. Then he let it go. Power surged out of him, washing the room in green and silver. It was like a tidal wave washing through his body, making him into a vessel, just a container for the raw magic. He distantly registered his nosebleed, and the reopening of his scar. He sensed Voldemort's awareness and fear through their link. The whole room was green and bright, like the flash of the Avada Kedavra, but for far longer, a death of minutes not seconds, he could see nothing but green light, How was he still alive? Was Snape alive? Had he killed someone with his anger? Had he killed yet another person because he didn't think before he acted? Remorse struck him, a counterpoint to the blind rage he had been feeling. _Stop._ He thought with as much firmness as he could muster. _No more._ He forced his magic back into himself, coiling it under his skin. He closed his eyes, head thrown back, willing himself to be calm, gathering up the stray wisps of his magic still remaining.

When he was sure he could control himself, he opened his eyes. Then he blinked, surprised. His location had changed. The room was bare. Gone was the cosy living room with the warm roaring fire. He was in a small square room, more like a cell. There were no windows anywhere, not even window holes. It was cold and dank, Harry felt himself shivering. There was no visible exit from the place. Harry himself was kneeling in the centre of the cold stone room, his wand gone, his nosebleed dripping onto the floor. The walls were covered in symbols, glowing with power. But there was no Snape. No body, no heap of ash even. _I might not have killed him._ The thought gave him hope, a hope that, two days ago, Harry would have considered absurd. Well, he needed to get out of here. It could be a trick.

"A trick." He whispered hoarsely. He laughed, a cracked wheezing laugh that was more like a sob. He might die here. On his own, in a windowless room. Harry did the only thing he could do in such a situation. He lay down in one of the corners, and slept fitfully, more drained than he ever thought he could be.

He was woken up some time later be the sound of footsteps. With an effort, he opened one eye. Snape was standing there, arms folded, examining him critically.

"Pitiful. This is the hope of the wizarding world. See what would have happened, Potter? You stubbornly refused to talk to anyone about what is troubling you. If you suppress that much emotion, you will eventually let it out somehow. In a way that might destroy the very people you're fighting for."

"So I didn't destroy the school then? And you're not dead?"

Snape actually laughed. "Do you really think I'd provoke you in that way if I wasn't sure I wouldn't be eviscerated? You foolish child. And the magic you released has gone towards the strengthening of the wards. They will take one hell of a hammering before giving way now. No, the aim was to teach you what you are capable of when you are pushed. And to show you the dangerous path you walk."

"Couldn't you have set me an essay?" Harry asked, wondering how he hadn't spotted the trick before, before he remembered how tired he had been. He tended to act, without looking at what his opponents wanted him to see. If he thought, looked at the pattern, Sirius might be alive today. But he worked on instinct and gut feeling. "The water you gave me, it was to make me more…susceptible to magical suggestion? More easily fooled?"

He nodded. "The tiredness did the rest of the work for me, Potter."

"So where are we?" he asked. He had never seen this place before. It felt as if it was at the very heart of the castle.

"The Chamber of Secrets. The actual chamber. I believe you were a little preoccupied the last time you were down here."

Harry gave a wry smile and sat up, leaning against the wall.

"Yes. Basilisks tend to have that effect on me. It feels sort of welcoming. As if it…wants me here. And not as if it just belonged to Slytherin. Were the other Founders connected with this room? And how did you get in here? Can you speak Parseltongue?"

"You ask too many questions, Potter. The founders were connected with this room; it is the very heart of Hogwarts. The wards are operated from this place; it can change its appearance if necessary. It's a bit like the Room of Requirement in that respect."

Snape missed out Harry's last question. Not sure if it was the wisest thing to do, he persisted in his enquiring.

"So a blood connection to the founders is needed? You're one of the Heirs?"

"You're not going to let this drop are you? I'll make a deal. You tell me about your nightmares and their reason, and I will tell you about my illustrious ancestry." Snape smiled ironically "Tit for tat, Potter."

Snape knew him too well. He couldn't resist a mystery. After all, knowledge was power. But to tell someone? To admit it, and to a person who was almost a stranger to him? He studied Snape's face for any sign of insincerity. There was only a quirked eyebrow and a challenging gaze.

"Fine. I will. But don't interrupt, don't tell anyone, and don't pity me."

"That will hardly be a problem. But I give you my word I won't."

Snape sat down cross legged opposite him. Staring at the floor, avoiding his eyes, he began to speak.

"Magic leaves a trace. That was one of the things Dumbledore said, as if he expected me to know exactly what that meant and what I was supposed to do about it. It was one of the avenues of research we pursued, what with Voldemort's unsavoury habit of killing those who knew anything about him. I doubt if even his barber survived. We searched in vain, despite breaking into the Ministry library on many occasions. Until I read an article in the Quibbler about a Shaman from Africa who claimed to be able to see the paths of magic. It was a small article, the Shaman wasn't named, and there was no way of contacting him, but it was a chance. So we went to Africa, and after some bribes and threats managed to find the Shaman. He lived in a cave some way up a mountain. We camped at the bottom of the hill, understanding he was a notoriously paranoid and territorial person, and waited there for him to acknowledge our presence."

"After three days, one of his servants came and asked for the Chosen One to come alone and unarmed, and that I would be away for a week. I went. We had come too far not to. And it was our only option really. I could have ransacked Riddle's mind through our connection for Horcrux locations, but that was too risky."

And so I met with him. And he offered me a trade. The ability to see magic, for something of mine in return. Something I treasured. It-"

Harry paused for breath, paused to compose himself. Snape was looking at the floor opposite him, face expressionless. He contemplated just stopping his narration, but Snape had said nothing. He hadn't told him he was stupid, or arrogant. He hadn't voiced pity, or disappointment. He was just sitting there, seemingly deep in thought. It was like talking to a statue.

"It turned out to be my virginity." Harry laughed at how absurd that sounded. "I expected it to be just sex. A quick fuck, wham bam thank you mister, have your Voldemort –defeating gift. But it was more than that. He made me utterly humiliate myself. He made me beg. I never beg! Not even when the Dursleys didn't feed me! He tore away my pride, my security, all of my illusions. Here was someone who was willing to give me the means to defeat evil, yet he wasn't good. He caused me pain. So much pain. And yet, I enjoyed it. I _enjoyed _being branded. I enjoyed being forced, enjoyed being struck and bitten. He took what I thought was an act of love, and made it into an act of utter hate. For a whole week. He drove me to the point of madness, tortured me, found my every fear and exploited it. I had to eat food he hand fed me, and drink water I would have hesitated to wash in."

"Then, on the seventh day, he released me, too weak to walk, and he put his hand on my eyes and closed them. He healed my many injuries. He told me I now had the gift. He told me nothing of how to use it. When I opened my eyes, the cave was gone. I walked back to Ron and Hermione at the bottom of the hill. I said nothing about my encounter. It took me a week to be able to see magic. When I did, I saw it was more an addiction than a gift."

Tears ran down his face. He found he was shaking, and hid his face in his hands, sobs wracking a body that was already aching. Snape didn't touch him. He didn't attempt to comfort him. Harry was glad. Since it had happened, he got nervous of physical contact, had relished having his own space. Snape didn't tell him everything was going to be all right, or any other crap. Just sat there, waiting him out.

Harry hadn't been able to cry about it. Not even in his dreams about it. He felt raw, vulnerable, like a newborn. But he felt better. And it was because of Snape. The man had deliberately goaded him, saying unforgivable things to him, provoking him. He had let him believe he had destroyed the school. He had allowed him to think he had killed people. But Harry was grateful. Snape had done something necessary, something he knew he would be hated for. He had done it anyway, out of duty. He hadn't expected rewards, or glory, or gratitude. And no one would ever thank him. Because he let them think he was a spy. He let them think he was evil. He allowed them to hate him. Because it was the right thing to do. Snape was the bravest of the lot of them. Respect for Snape was a new thing for Harry. It was something he never thought he would feel. For all of his flaws and failures, for all of his bitterness, Severus Snape was someone truly good. Possibly someone better than Harry.

"Thank you for saving me, sir. Again. I owe you a great deal."

Harry was rewarded with genuine surprise on Snape's face. It was worth the ache in his bones, and the rawness, and the tiredness. It made things seem slightly better, for being able to make something like a smile appear. It was an abandonment of pride that was worth so much more than what he had gained from the last surrendering.

"You were going to tell me about your ancestry, Sir."

Snape rolled his eyes.

"For someone who looks so knackered at the moment, you're remarkably stubborn. Very well. I am the descendant of the result of a liason between Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin."

Harry eyes widened and he gave a low whistle. "I never knew those two had been in love!"

Snape sneered. "Not _all_ children are the result of love, Potter. Rowena didn't even like Salazar. It was simple an arrangement of convenience, and when the arrangement produced a child, Rowena refused to acknowledge Salazar as its father. It was one of the causes of the fight between Slytherin and Gryffindor. He went on to have other spawn, of course. And that, Potter is the highly touching story of my illustrious ancestry. My line was the result of a loveless fuck. Heart-warming, isn't it?"

Harry was appalled. To not have loved each other at all? Snape sounded as if he took the story personally. Remembering the Pensieve incident, Harry could guess why. It horrified him that Snape's parents didn't love each other. It had been the one thing he had been sure of about his parents. Whatever horrible things Petunia had said about them, she had never said they hated each other.

"So that's why Dobby bowed?"

"It's one of the reasons, Potter. The others, of course, I shall take great pleasure in not telling you. Can you walk?"

"What?" Harry was startled at the sudden change in topic.

"It's a simple enough question, Potter. Are you able to move unaided, or will I have to carry you?"

Oh. Right. The world waited outside for them.

Harry managed to haul himself up, and Snape muttered something under his breath. An opening appeared in one of the walls. Harry could see through into the living room of the chambers they were staying at.

"Yes, Potter, it can drop you off anywhere. Don't try and work out how. You'll rupture something. Now step out and we can get that scar of yours cleaned up."

Harry obeyed, and slumped onto one of the sofas, too tired to move anywhere. Snape conjured a bowl of water and a cloth, and gently dabbed at the scar. He wasn't rough at all, but he seemed to look away from it as he worked. _He never looks at my scar_ Harry realised. _He doesn't seem to see it as being a particularly important part of me really. He hated me because of my father, not because of Voldemort. _It was bizarrely comforting to Harry.

"Is it changed at all?" Harry asked. He didn't want it to look any more obvious.

"See for yourself." Snape produced a hand mirror and held it up so Harry could look. It looked normal, a little raw, but apart from that, fine. But just as he was going to look away, a glimmer caught his eye. If he looked at the magic in his scar, it had changed from red and black to red and silver. When he told Snape this, he looked at Harry thoughtfully, but refused to explain why. When Harry questioned him further, he ignored him, although he didn't make any scathing comments to him, handed him his wand, and pushed him in the general direction of his bedroom.

"I shall assume you are still able to undress yourself, Potter. Sleep well."

That night, for the first time in years, when Harry dreamt, he had his long-forgotten dream of being carried on a flying motorbike. There was no Voldemort, no shadowy sense of power and dislocation, no omens, no portents, just him, his Godfather's motorbike, and his first true friend.

aa

"Harry! You're up! We were really worried about you, we thought, well..."

Hermione trailed off and chewed her lower lip. Ron, however, had no problem with tact.

"We thought you had either gone mad, killed Snape, or been murdered by him. Ouch! That hurt, woman! You always hit me!"

"I'm trying to knock some sense into you." Hermione retorted. She had a mean right hook.

"Violence is only the resort of fools and peasants." Ron proclaimed with lofty disdain, dodging another cuff. "Anyway, mate, how are you?"

Both turned their attention from their mock fight to examine Harry.

"I'm better, thank you. So much better." He smiled warmly at them, and it felt right on his face, not as if it had been plastered there.

"Good. You prat." Ron said this affectionately, but Harry felt a surge of guilt about how he had been behaving. They had been worried, shooting him glances when he had stayed quiet for too long, and he had thought they had been fooled by his acting, but seemingly not.

"And what have you learnt from this, Harry?" Hermione was back in what Harry had christened her 'McGonagall mode'. Her face was stern, eyes serious.

Harry thought carefully about what he had learnt. About assuming things. About bravery and duty and honour. About control and power.

"Trust. Hope. And that sleeping on cold floors makes your bones ache." He grimaced wryly. He was seventeen, and he'd already been injured countless times, and had the crucio cast on him one time too many. He felt like an old man sometimes in the mornings. How Snape must have felt, in Voldemort's service. _His joints must trouble him something awful in the winter_ he thought sympathetically. No wonder he was such a bastard when they had potions first thing. Not that Snape needed an excuse.

"What time is it? How long have I slept? Where's Snape?"

"It's eleven in the morning. You've slept for a night, a day and another night. And Prof- sod it, Snape, well, we don't know really. He sort of seemed…distracted when we saw him last." She looked troubled.

"Let's sit down. I'm not sure if I'm going to like what you tell me." Harry prepared himself for the worst as they sat down at the table.

"Well, me and Hermione, sorry, Hermione and I, were talking to Dumbledore's portrait, you know he hasn't become any saner, about general stuff like gobstones and Quidditch, and Snape came in with a face like thunder. Scared the hell out of me, gave me at least three white hairs. He stood there facing Dumbledore and, well, he was shaking with anger; it was as if he could freeze things by looking at 'em. And he said, well, whispered really '_He_ _is asleep. And you are lucky he hasn't destroyed himself. If you had actually listed to me, if you hadn't been so_' what was it Hermione?"

" '_If you hadn't been so bloody adamant he would be brought up an innocent among savages, if you hadn't kept him so absurdly vulnerable, if you hadn't shielded him from so much, he wouldn't be in this situation_. _You're lucky I'm here to clean up this tangle. Again.' _Then he stormed out. And we haven't seen him since._"_

"Again? Why again? Oh well, it's another mystery. The man seems to accumulate secrets like Dobby gets socks and hats." He wasn't all that annoyed about the secrets, but he hoped Snape hadn't been caught.

"Hermione, how strong are Azkaban's fortifications?"

"Oh, pretty strong, but if you look at the Ministy plans, there are a few critical weakspots that with the right- Why do you want to know?"

"We'll give him another week, and then storm the prison. Should be fun."

"Give who another week?"

Both Ron and Hermione looked baffled.

"Snape of course. Honestly, keep up."

"That won't be necessary, Potter. You underestimate me yet again."

Didn't the man ever make a noise when he walked?

"I'm going to give you a bell to wear. To warn people."

"Please. Sneaking up on unsuspecting people is one of my fondest pleasures. Except where Moody is concerned. Then it can get a little bit painful."

Harry winced. "Yes, I suppose it would be. And you're not going to tell me where you went, are you?"

"Well, as you asked me so nicely to refrain from talking about it, I won't."

A/N Sorry about the wait, the repair man stole my computer, and I turned 18. All terribly inconvenient, I know. Hee hee. But here we are with another chapter, and another mystery solvedish and one more opened. And things will be explained soon. Perhaps. If you're all good and eat your greens. Hope you liked it, I'm getting better at writing Harry, I hope. Next time, there might possibly actually be some plot. Or maybe that's a tad overambitious. Ooh, and I've nearly finished the next Redemption chapter! Go me!

Llassah

xxxxxxxxxx


	6. Chapter 6

"Can I ask you a question please?"

"Do I have to answer it?"

They were sitting in the living room the next morning, in comfy chairs opposite each other. The fire gave everything a rosy glow, and Snape was looking as if he might not hex Harry for asking him things. He was, however, still facetious and seemingly determined to mock Harry at every turn. Harry had decided to ignore it.

"It's about what Hermione and Ron saw in Dumbledore's office. You were angry about his methods, both with me and someone else. I would just like to know what you think that Dumbledore did that was wrong." Harry forced himself not to trail off and mumble about it not mattering. He wanted to know, he was tired of not being informed about things.

Snape sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if he had refused to answer. Something must have compelled him to honesty though, because after a long while he began to speak.

"I was initially sceptical about your being raised by muggles, especially muggles capable of such casual cruelty and hypocrisy. But he had reasons for his decision, a few of which you know, one of which I have guessed. You mother's sacrifice, and the protection it afforded you, your removal from all the fame you have since enjoyed" Harry snorted sceptically at that, but Snape frowned and continued "And also, and perhaps most importantly, you have spent your formative years as the underdog."

Once more, Harry mad a move as if to protest, but Snape continued.

"It all boils down once more to power. You already have an immeasurable amount of power at your disposal, and power corrupts. It can make the noblest turn to evil in pursuit of it. It can create bullies, and murderers. When a person is completely invulnerable, when they are venerated, when they are feared, reality, perspective and goodness start to lose their importance. They become so convinced of their own infallibility they lose touch of humanity. The inevitable and obvious comparison to make is with the Dark Lord, but his initial humanity is debateable. So what does this mean? Dumbledore put you into a situation in which you were always the underling. You spent the first ten years of your life alone and unloved. You were bullied and treated like dirt. You will never bully. You will never treat others badly, because you have been mistreated. You will care for others because you know how it feels like not to be cared for. Where others whose characters are just as good as yours have failed and become corrupt, you will not. You might go insane, or become suicidal and depressed, once this nice little outing is over, but you won't be the next Dark Lord. And that, Potter, is something I do not necessarily agree with, but Dumbledore was, as we know, a genius and a man who had to make hard decisions in unrewarding circumstances."

Harry sunk back into his chair, shocked. He had never thought that he could be a threat. His initial reaction was that of anger, but that swiftly died down as he thought. There had been moments when he could have committed acts of evil, or murder. When he had first seen Sirius, he had wanted to kill him, and he had tried to perform an unforgivable on Bellatrix. There had been times when it would have been easy to do the wrong thing, but something had held him back. In the past six months, he had been treading an even more morally ambiguous path and his connection to Voldemort had also threatened to draw him into evil. He had walked in darkness, but that was not the same. He had injured some people, he had threatened others in the pursuit of his goal, but he would never bully. But was that because of his upbringing? Could he have been arrogant, or more careless of others had he had a different childhood? It was an uncomfortable question, and one he wasn't sure had any easy answers. Were they right to treat him as a weapon? To shield him from truths he felt he needed to know?

"You're quiet, Potter. Could you possibly be considering what I have said? Or would that be too much to expect?"

"I am thinking, sir. I just don't know how I feel about what you've told me."

Harry felt raw and vulnerable, shaken by these revelations. To his surprise, Snape stood up and moved to stand in front of him.

"Then don't. It doesn't matter. Put it from your mind. The last thing you need is to think you're the next evil Dark Lord, which, incidentally, is an impossibility."

Harry's jaw dropped. How come Snape was suddenly so sure of his morality?

"Why?"

"Potter" Snape's tone was that of amused condescension "you can't be the next Dark Lord when you worry about hurting people's feelings that much. Besides, you're far too clumsy to have any sort of gravitas."

"You know, that's actually rather comforting. If a touch insulting."

Snape inclined his head gracefully.

"I aim to please."

He slouched back into his chair, and Harry envied the grace with which he moved. His rapid growth spurts had meant he was no longer quite sure where his arms ended and his legs began. He moved with gaucheness, except in the air, and despaired of ever being imposing. He sympathised with the duck-footed, shuffling Krum. People expected elegance from them, not clay feet. They sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts.

"They're back" Snape observed. "I wonder why their voices are raised. Trouble in paradise? Poor Ron-Ron." His mouth quirked.

"How did you hear that nickname?" Harry wondered.

Snape just smiled mysteriously and tapped the side of his nose. The shouting got closer, and Harry could make out words. From what Harry could hear, Ron and Hermione seemed to be having an argument, and a peculiar one at that.

"Hermione, I am not going to put those leather things on! For the last time!"

Harry's eyes widened. Snape smiled wolfishly, a wicked look in his sloe-black eyes.

"Well well well. Miss Granger has a kink. Who'd have thought it?" he purred

"Don't even _think _about it!" Harry warned. "They must be talking about-"

"The wearing of leather in a non sexual context?" he supplied archly, raising a brow.

Harry gave up trying to think his way out of the frankly disturbing mental images his mind was throwing at him, and waited for an explanation. One that, hopefully, didn't include whips. Or chains.

"It's a perfectly reasonable suggestion, Ron" Hermione was saying reasonably as she stepped through the portrait hole. "Leather's very practical. I'm sure you three will look fine in it." She hadn't noticed Snape and Harry were in the room. Harry was going to clear his throat, but Snape stopped him with a look.

You three? Harry sunk his head into his hands. She wanted them to dress up as bondage monkeys for her. He looked through his fingers at Snape. By the expression on his face, he was not enamoured of the idea. He looked rather as if someone had told him he had to marry Umbridge.

"But leather's really…weird, Hermione."

"Oh, for crap's sakes, Ron! All right then, it's because I secretly want all of you to do my bidding in order to give me sexual gratification. I'm going to wear a corset with pointy breasts and carry a bullwhip, dress you all in leather sailor suits and make you lick my insteps. Or maybe you and Harry can wear gimp masks and Professor Snape can be my slave, because, hell, I've always wanted him to be my fluffy sex- Professor!"

Her hands flew to her mouth; as if she wanted to stuff her words back in. Ron looked similarly aghast, and Harry didn't know whether to cry or roll about on the floor laughing.

"Miss Granger, I had no idea you harboured such fantasies about me. Had I known, I would have put a little more…effort into my appearance. There is one point, however, I am unclear about. What is a 'Fluffy Sex Professor', and how does it differ from a normal one? Would you care to enlighten me, Potter?"

With a completely straight face, Harry thought about this for a while.

"Well, I would imagine that slightly fewer items of clothing would be worn. Of course, the 'Fluffy Sex' variety of professor would be more eager to receive punishment than administer it. A cane would be used at some point, and detentions would be slightly more than scrubbing cauldrons. The clothing would be furry in texture, possibly pink. And might involve ears and a tail."

Snape appeared to consider the matter with a faint shudder. "I think Lockhart would be more suited to that role. Pink has never suited me. Drains my complexion. Otherwise, of course, I would be happy to oblige."

Hermione had recovered enough to give a petulant little sigh. "Oh well, professor. Perhaps another fantasy. In a slightly more flattering colour."

Ron's eyes bulged slightly at this.

"Hermione, are you serious?" he asked weakly.

Hermione gave a mysterious smile and didn't answer.

"Because if you really wanted that, well, I suppose I could, I mean, if it would make you happy…" He assumed an expression of noble self-sacrifice.

"What would make me happy, Ron, is you wearing dragonhide to go up the mountain. It would protect you from the cold, wind, rain, snow, and minor hexes. If it is the tightness you feel uneasy with, I can fix that with a loosening charm. And no, darling, I wouldn't require you to dress up as a rabbit. Pink would clash terribly with you hair."

"Ok then. I'll wear it."

She beamed and patted him on the head. Harry didn't know how he felt about leather. Whatever kept them alive, really. But he hoped it wouldn't chafe…

"So we are wearing dragonhide then?" Snape sounded resigned.

"You'll wear it?" Hermione sounded as if she had been expecting a major battle. Snape nodded grumpily, then stood up, folded his arms and glared at Harry.

"I you tell anyone about this, I shall personally hunt you down and make death feel like a friendly handshake." He hissed threateningly. Harry nodded.

"Likewise."

A/N Hee hee hee hee hee, fluffy sex professor. This line comes from a time I was absolutely ratarsed, and called a boy my 'fluffy little sex bunny'. We haven't really spoken since. Drink is bad.

Right, Kids, Lets answer some reviews shall we? Are you sitting comfortably? Just call me Lockhart.

Kathy: Errm, they're kind of his friends, who have stuck by him when people have thought he was mad and evil and everything. Ok, so Ron had that spat in the fourth book, but they're still his friends, and a great part of the reason for his success. The first thing Snape did when he went to Hogwarts was victimise Harry, for no better reason other than his father was an arrogant bully. He might have had to, to a certain extent, but Snape is a bitter, vindictive man. My favourite character, but I will freely admit his behaviour to Harry was unnecessarily harsh. And friendship is not based on how much people go through. People don't dump friends because they're not screwed up enough.

"I'm sorry, this isn't going to work. You're not as torn up by tormented angsty bitterness and self vilification as me. I want someone I can cry with."

I don't think this can really happen, not when said friends have stuck with Harry even though it makes them targets for every passing Death Eater.

If you think this would work as a fic, please try writing it yourself. But I don't want Harry to cut off his support network and spend all his time making daisychains with Snape, and swop stories of tormented suffering. I want to explore what would happen if you put Harry and Snape in a situation and poke them repeatedly with a stick.

Thank you, however, for your kind review. I hope I am not being too abrupt with you.

Jujube15: Hmm. You're really cracking the whip, aren't you. I appreciate that you want to read more (strangely) but giving me orders to rush my work is not going to a) make me work faster (I am naturally perverse, heh heh heh) or b) make me write good quality work if I rush to meet your demands. I like the fact the people are reviewing, but I guess I'm in a Snapeish mood at the moment. Ah well. Thank you for reviewing, I hope you continue to read, but authors need something to work with on a review, even if it's critical.

Jenonymous: Bless you. Your comments made me smile all day. I can assure you that I am 18; I guess I know more about people and situations than someone my age should. Which, of course, isn't ideal, but it does mean I get lovely comments like that for my work!

KatieBell70: Hee hee, you mean you get annoyed by Harry? Wonders will never cease! Well, I'm glad I wrote him likeable, thank you for your review. I didn't like the OotP Harry, but I think in HBP, he's back to being a really cool character in many ways. No more CAPITAL LETTER SHOUTING, but understated, genuinely moving pain. I'm sure I didn't deserve it, but it was welcome nonetheless.

Padawan Jan-AQ: Thank you for your continued following of this fic. I'm glad you're reviewing all the chapters, it's nice to know I'm getting at least something right! And thanks for adding me to your groups, it's an honour.

excessivelyperky: you hate Dumbledore more than Voldemort does! I'm not sure how much I agree with you on some points, but I hope this chapter addresses some of the issues that JKR has so far left unexplained. I'm not going to make this a 'Lets dance on Dumbledore's white Marble Grave 'cos he's deaded! Hahaha!'! fic, because I like Dumbledore overall as a character, but thank you for your helpful reviews and support.

Ashley J Potter: Fic duly read and reviewed, I hope you found my comments helpful

Severinah: I sincerely hope you were not being crude. I see nothing wrong with the word 'toss'. Hee hee, I almost wrote that with a straight face… Thank you for your comments

Chip: Aww, that's really kind of you. Bless!

Louie: Thank you, and I agree, Snape and Harry should be sensible and mature. And I like them working together, because I think the side Snape exhibited around Draco in HBP shows he can be caring. In a sort of 'Ok then, dear boy, let's invade Hogwarts if it would make you happy' kinda way!

Miz-Attitude: Thank you. I like the throwaway flippant side to Harry. Like with the Inferi and the asking them 'Excuse me, are you the imprint of a departed soul?' That bit made me think he could potentially spark off Snape conversationally, making them being forced to spend time in each other's company amusing dialogue wise. See? I'm not just an evil sadist who likes people to suffer. Much.


	7. Chapter 7

7

"A cloak for Ron, a cloak for Harry, a cloak for Snape, a cloak for me, boots for Ron, boots for Harry, boots for Snape, boots for me. There, done!"

Hermione ticked the final item off her list with a satisfied smile.

"You sound like Ratty." Snape observed from where he sat putting yet another pot of wound salve into the medical kit.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, confused. Harry was relived that she didn't know what he was talking about either, but she disappointed him by hitting her forehead after a few seconds of thinking

"Oh, 'The Wind in the Willows'! I loved that book as a child!"

Harry looked at Ron for confusion, but he was obviously acquainted with the book as well. Snape looked at him keenly

"I know, I know, another gap in my lamentable education" he huffed, feeling left out. I t was painful sometimes to hear about childhoods when one read books and got fed enough. It would sneak up on him in unguarded moments, leaving him feeling hollow and bereft. Snape didn't sneer though. He made a noise that was almost like a sigh.

"You should still read the classics at some point, Potter." He told him in a tone of patience

"Perhaps when I've saved the world. Until then, dear old Riddle is rather high up on my 'to do in' list." He was still needled, and wondering when he would ever have time to actually read books. Usually, reading things was done to avert the destruction of the school, or Voldemort's victory. To read for pleasure was a luxury.

"Aggrieved again, Potter?" Snape enquired with a raised eyebrow. It was said in the same tone the portrait if Phineas Nigellus had used in the fifth year when he had had such a hair-trigger temper.

"I'm just going stir crazy, sir. Cooped up here, we never stayed in one place before! Now we're trapped! Anything could happen!" Harry scowled, his frustration crystallized as the reason for it was made clear.

"It reminds me of cages, and Sirius." He confessed, shuddering slightly. He would go half mad, drive himself to drink, he understood how damned depressing it was not to be taking action.

"Duel?" Snape asked casually, putting the medical bag down and standing with a languorous stretch.

Harry blinked. "Why a duel?"

"You could use an outlet, and I could use a few cheap laughs."

"I have improved since last time, you know." Harry felt the blood surging through his veins at the thought of this challenge.

"Good. I rather hoped you would have, Potter. Shall we dance?" Snape asked with a mock courtly bow.

"Erm…somewhere else please, if you have to. I don't want to get blasted, thank you very much." Hermione stood between them, hands on hips. Snape shrugged and walked over to the portrait hole.

"Coming, Potter? I thought the Room of Requirement would be a good place."

Harry nodded and stood.

"Please don't kill each other." Her eyes were bright with anxiety. Harry grinned lightly and patted her on the head in a manner calculated to rile. "Don't you worry; I'll be kind to Snape. Seeing as he's old and past it." He added with a teasing grin, earning a derisive sneer from Snape.

"I don't think you've improved _that_ much, Potter." He called back as he strode out of the room.

Harry shrugged philosophically. "True, but I can hope."

-8-8-8-8-

The Room of Requirement was a high vaulted room, about the same size as the Great Hall. The walls and floor were bare stone; there were no cushions or padding to break their falls. Harry felt a grim smile break out on his face. This was just what he needed.

Harry stood in the centre of the room, wand held in a relaxed manner.

"So, Potter, any reason for your mood? Pernicious influences, flashbacks, anything potentially dangerous?"

Snape was pacing slightly, twirling his wand. Briefly hypnotised by the movement, Harry shook himself.

"I don't know, sir. I don't think so. I just feel a general anger at everything. I feel…malevolent, as if I'm spoiling for a fight. I don't think it's Voldemort."

"Hmm. Well, I suppose Ihad better inform Mrs. Norris. She makes such an irresistable target. Almost like the first years.Expelliarmus!"

Harry, who had been expecting an attack of this nature mirror-blocked it and sent a body binder curse straight after it, which Snape threw off easily, as if shaking water.

_Still no need to hold back then. _Harry thought with exhilaration. Snape obviously wasn't making allowance, as Harry dodged and blocked, sometimes physically avoiding the curses, sometimes meeting them headway, causing explosions which would have made for an impressive firework display.

At some point, he had acquired an impressive slash across his chest, and a burn on his shoulder, but he fought on grimly, repaying the injuries in kind, safe in the knowledge that the wounds were healable. Neither of them were shooting to kill. This was an ideal opportunity to do so; duelling deaths were not punishable. But Harry found he didn't really want to kill Snape. In a peculiar way, he would miss him.

The thought distracted him enough for a magic block, bodybinder and expelliarmus curse configuration to render him paralysed, in both body and mind. Being rendered powerless led to the dredging up of every time his world had shattered, and he was thrust into the role of helpless victim, unable to save himself or others. If he had been able to, he would have curled into the foetal position and sobbed. As it was, he could only lie sprawled on the floor, the blood from his chest wound slowly trickling to the floor.

A pair of black boots came into his line of vision.

"Interesting, Potter. The thing that will destroy you eventually. You worst fear. A loss of ability to act. So, how are you going to get out of it? Non verbal spells won't work, you cannot retaliate physically. No way to grip your wand, even if you did somehow manage to obtain it. Reduced to nothing more than a sentient corpse."

He was talking as if it was nothing more than a lesson. His voice was dispassionate; there was no triumph or malice. He talked as if he were stating the bare facts of the situation. Harry found his breathing calming, tried to imagine this was just another classroom.

"Now, you are angry and afraid."

Damn fucking straight he was. His breathing quickened once more.

"Hmm. I see you are not thinking properly." Snape conjured a chair and sat with it the wrong way round; his arms lightly folded resting on the back. "Now, when wizards are angry or scared, they create energy and lash out. Yours, of course, is exceedingly strong. It is a magic not really bound by normal laws. Although self-levitation is theoretically impossible, wizards have been known to lift themselves to avoid danger. So, you idiot, stop. Think. You are never absolutely powerless. The fight is not over until you have won it. Lash out against the bonds and you will find that the block will break. Or else I could imprison you here." He mused, an almost dreamy look coming into his eyes. "Let Voldemort into the school. My reward would be great. I could-"

Crack! The bonds broke, and Harry was suddenly free and mobile. He sat up, drew in a shaky breath and then stood, resolute.

"Do that again. I want to break it without you doing your best to piss me off. I think I have the feel of it now."

With a negligent flick of his wrist, Harry was wandless and immobile once more. Centring himself, he took a breath and pushed forcefully at his restraints, imagining them severed. He shook them off in less time then. He insisted on practicing until he could rid himself instantaneously of them, and then asked Snape to stop. His knees, weakened from the shock that was just kicking in, gave way, and he found himself on the floor, looking up at Snape.

"Now you've got rid of that particular hang up, we are about evenly matched. You need control, of course. Master yourself, or others will. Of course, neither of us was using deadly curses. But I assume you have a wide range of those as well."

"We'll never fight using those, though." They were on the same side. Harry would not have cause to. But Snape said nothing, just looked at him levelly.

"Will we?" Harry needed reassurance.

"Potter, I cannot guarantee. I won't lie to you, boy. Too many others have done so. Just let it drop. Please."

Without the _please_, Harry would have insisted on answers. But Snape sounded so weary he found he couldn't. He never begged…

"I won't tell Ron and Hermione. I'll just hope whatever you think you have to do you won't have to."

"Come on, Potter. You're done in. Let's get you fixed up."

"And you. We can go to Ron. He knows all sorts of nice little healing spells"

"Potter, if you think I'm going to allow a Weasley anywhere near me with a wand, those confundus curses must have hit you harder than I thought. Now, lean on my shoulder, that's right. Gods, Miss Granger is going to kill us."

"Scared, Sir?"

"Never underestimate the terror that is the female of the species when disobeyed." Snape said with a wry smile. Harry's shoulders slumped.

"Good point. South America it is, then."

-8-8-8-8-8-

January 7th. They left in three days. Harry kept reminding himself of that when the walls of the castle felt more prison than sanctuary. He repeated it to himself, later that day when he was outside Dumbledore's office. No. McGonagall's office. She was the headmistress now. Dumbledore was dead. The knowledge would creep up on him at unexpected times, and he wanted nothing more than to see the eyesores Dumbledore called robes, or be told some quirkily bemusing fact that made him wonder what plane of reality the man existed on. He steeled himself. Dead. No bringing him back, save through his image.

His portrait was asleep. Harry was glad. He was not looking forward to this chat, and Dumbledore's disappointment would make it worse.

"Ah, Mister Potter. Still sore?"

Harry blinked. How had she known? She must have seen his look of confusion as she went on to explain.

"I had a chat with Miss Granger. She did not seem too ecstatic about you two duelling. By your caution moving, I assume Severus is as good a dueller as he ever was."

Harry smiled wryly. He felt a bit like an old man at the moment. McGonagall nodded wisely, and poured them both cups of tea.

"So, apart from the lacerations, how are you getting on with him?"

"Better than I had expected too, Ma'am. I was not too ecstatic about the idea," he said with dry understatement, "but we understand each other now."

She nodded, relieved, then sat straighter in her chair and examined him piercingly, making Harry glad he had not committed any misdemeanours, student or not.

"I assume that the Order need to be alerted to Severus's current status. However, the final word on how much we tell them rests with you. I know about Horcruxes- Don't twitch, Mister Potter, Albus informed me! How much do I tell the Order?"

Like Snape, she seemed to be treating him as an adult, talking to him with a sort of respect, a near deference that was both warming and unnerving.

"Tell them about Snape. Tell them that I am on a quest. But leave the nature and aims of the quest out of it please, Ma'am."

Her eyebrows shot up to her forehead. "You are cutting the Order out of it?" She sounded incredulous.

"As they have done to me on many occasions. The repercussions of which I am currently dealing with now." She moved to protest once more, but he held up a hand. "It also means that the Order are free of my Quest's taint. Do you honestly think that the Ministry will be fully accepting of what I have had to do? I will not allow others to be implicated. I want the Order to be a separate unit. When the time comes for the Final Battle, we will join together. That is my final decision."

Her face was unreadable. "Your final decision. Well, it would appear that the Order have a leader. Biscuit, Mister Potter?"

She moved the conversation on to more mundane things. As she walked with him to the door, she confided in a conspiratorial whisper "Severus's birthday is in two days time." Straightening up, she continued in a normal one of voice "Good day, Mister Potter. It has been a pleasure."

-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Before they ate that night, Harry told them about his meeting. Hermione was shocked about his exclusion of the Order.

"We need them! You disabling our army, Harry!"

Ron looked as if he agreed. Snape was inspecting his fingernails with an air of supreme indifference.

"No. They will work without me. McGonagall is a capable leader. I will give them any necessary information, but you must understand how close to the Dark we are sailing here. The rules we are breaking here will pretty much guarantee Azkaban for me. I have ensured your eyes are open to the risks, and you have stubbornly continued, but I still refuse to allow you to taint yourself. The very nature of many of the Order members means that the Ministry will be absolutely ecstatic to gain a few more scapegoats. I absolutely refuse to allow my men to be blamed for my actions!"

Snape looked up from his fingernails and raised one eyebrow.

"What? I didn't say anything terrifically stupid, did I?"

"No more so that usual, Potter."

"You called them 'your men'." Hermione told him, sounding strangely misty-eyed.

"Oh. So I did. Hmm." Harry squared his shoulders, wondering how he was going to cope with the extra responsibility, before realising it would make no difference really. The prophecy had placed responsibility firmly on his shoulders.

"At bloody well last. Behold, the light dawneth, and the thing that is patently obvious to everyone else becomes obvious to our heroic but terminally dim leader, who has finally decided to stop running."

"I wasn't running! I was-"

"Avoiding responsibility for six months. In a variety of hard-to-find locations."

Harry was torn between admitting it and becoming angry. Perhaps a week ago he would have become angry, but not now. He had been forced to re-evaluate the truth. To lie to himself was another thing he could not afford, and it would lose himself any respect Snape had developed for him. A respect that was hard-won, and all the more valuable for it.

"Yup. Completely not running."

Snape's nod at this admission was a sign that he had once more passed some test, the criteria of which only Snape knew. Harry was left wondering what would happen if he failed one. Judging by the sheer power he had displayed in their duel, Harry decided he'd rather not know.


	8. Chapter 8

January 9th dawned bright and clear. Snow had fallen once more, making the soft grey of the time before dawn seem as if the world was waking for the first time. Harry dressed and crept down to the main room, clutching two packages. He placed them at the place where Snape usually sat to have breakfast.

"What are you doing up this early?"

Harry spun around guiltily to where Snape was sat in the highbacked chair by the fire, a mug of coffee in his hands and a book in his lap.

"Erm…Happy Birthday, sir…"

Snap said nothing for a while, his expression utterly blank.

"I assume McGonagall told you." He said, a hint of displeasure in his tone. Harry shifted from one foot to the other.

"Yes." He half whispered, face flushing.

"And so you decided you would be all magnanimous and charitable and get me something asinine and pointless like socks, or a tie, of a box of biscuits, and expect gratitude for your needless and ostentatious gift." His voice was bitter and merciless as he harangued Harry. He looked tired, as if he hadn't slept for most of the night.

"Please. Give me some credit. I got you a present because it is your birthday. Not everything is a secret way for me to make you feel like shit. Sir." Harry scowled and sat down at the table to read the papers. Perhaps they would be cheerful.

The Daily Prophet was, true to form, a mix of scaremongering and lies. The war had spilled out into the Muggle world three months before, as it had done in Grindewald's time, and riots were commonplace, tensions between towns, cities, even football supporters leading to more disorder. Sports matches were banned, and Wales and Scotland had border controls. The Muggle world now knew about the magical world, and many were predicting a return to the witch hunts and prejudice before the time of the Hiding of the magical world. It was all depressing, and it would make their journey to Wales all the more difficult, as there were anti-apparition wards up at each border. Feeling rebellious, Harry contented himself with giving the picture of Scrimgeour on the front page a moustache and a leather cat suit, and enchanting the headline so it read '"I am not ashamed of my predilection for bondage' Minister remains defiant in the face of public approbation". It improved his mood a little.

Behind him, Snape sniggered slightly at the picture, and sighed. "Potter, I am sorry. I have never liked birthdays too immensely. I prefer them to remain ignorable."

Harry nodded. "I understand, sir. Though it will mean I'll have to cancel the singing telegram I ordered to follow you everywhere for the day."

"I would have no choice but to kill you if you ever got me anything singing."

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Snape didn't grumble when Ron and Hermione added their gifts to the pile and wished him a happy birthday, and he thanked Dobby for the three packages the elf gave him along with a hug around the knees that nearly incapacitated him.

He didn't open them, however, for the whole of breakfast time, ignoring Hermione's impatient fidgeting, though Harry suspected he knew how agitated she was getting.

"Miss Granger, is there a problem?" He asked in a bemused tone, as she shifted in her seat for the umpteenth time that morning.

"Are you going to open your presents, sir?" She did try to contain the excitement in her voice, but failed rather. Harry ducked his head to hide his grin, and Ron looked at her fondly.

"Oh, those. I thought I'd leave them until after we've climbed the mountain…" He said casually. Her cheeks grew pink with agitation as he stood up and walked off humming.

"Potter, I was wrong. I _like _birthdays." He smiled in a way that would have made Neville faint, and walked through the portrait hole.

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As they had sat down to lunch, Hermione having made a point of piling the presents once more in Snape's place. He removed them, placed them to one side, and spent the rest of the meal talking with Harry about the comparative merits of the jelly-legs and tarantallegra curses, occasionally asking Hermione very sympathetically if everything was alright.

Halfway through the meal, a battered looking owl delivered a brown paper package to him, with elegant flowing writing on the front. As he was about to put it to one side, Hermione stood up and glared at him, fists clenched.

"If you do not start opening those thrice-damned presents this instant, I swear to you, I will turn your hair permanently pink, and make it so that you can only speak in rhyme. Is that clear?"

Snape looked at her for long moments, before smiling slightly. "Miss Granger, is that all that you wanted?"

"Yes." She replied, slightly deflated.

"Well, my dear, why on earth didn't you say? I'll open them right away." He said with a look of utter benign befuddlement. Hermione sighed and slumped back into her chair.

"I give up. Really I do."

He put Dobby's gift and the brown paper package to one side, and picked up McGonagall's gift first. It turned out to be a tartan scarf, but not in the usual Gryffindor red she favoured, but in Slytherin green. Snape smiled slightly.

"It must have made her teeth ache to buy it in that particular colour." He commented with a smirk.

A messily wrapped package turned out to be from Hagrid. Snape's eyes softened as he read the label, he looked almost…human. He unwrapped it, revealing a corked bottle labelled 'Dragon's Blood' and a package with 'Powdered Basilisk Fang' on the outside. He gave a low whistle.

"I don't know how illegal these ingredients are, or how he got them. But then, I probably don't _want_ to know."

Ron and Hermione had gone down to Hogsmeade to find their present for him. Hermione fidgeted as he opened it, waiting for the scathing remarks, but he didn't say anything, gazing at the silver serpent cufflinks for long moments, before thanking them both quietly.

Harry fidgeted. Only his two gifts were left; one joke present, one a real one. He opened the joke present first. It was their second year Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook, with some…modifications. Instead of Lockhart's dazzling grin on the front, it was Lockhart looking extremely scared. The title was no longer 'Magical Me'; it was 'Magical? Me?' Snape raised an eyebrow.

"I put a truth spell on the book. I thought it would give you a healthy dose of schadenfreude, sir. It certainly amused me greatly. Did you know he prefers women's underwear?"

Snape flipped it open to one of the pages. "Upon entering Durmstrang, the first charms I learnt were memory modification charms. I was then able to get through my school career with the minimum of effort. The fact that I was scared witless by even a flobberworm, and wore curlers to bed was never known. It was here that I developed a penchant for pink frilly knickers that needed funding. And fund it I did, first working as a barman in a fetish club, then dressing up as a rabbit and dancing in one of the cages. I was great favourite, especially among the truckers."

Snape snorted, and looked at the other, smaller box. In it was a plain looking silver ring.

"Potter, aren't you going to meet me family first? This is a bit sudden."

"I couldn't wait any more, darling. It's an appearance altering ring, undetectable, will last as long as you have the ring on, and will fool everyone, even Dementors. I thought it would make things easier."

He had intended to use it himself, as he anticipated having to go incognito once the ministry found out about some of his activities, but he didn't tell Snape that he had just given up his ticket to freedom. He wondered if he knew, because the look he gave him was stern.

"Thank you. This is a princely gift." Snape put the ring on, and Hermione gasped. Standing in front of them was a man a head shorter than Snape, with muddy brown hair and hazel coloured eyes. He looked…nondescript, he had the sort of face that would blend into any crowd. He took the ring off. There was Snape once more. "I take it that worked?"

"Yup, I couldn't see any magic on it, sir. Try a spell. See if it's traceable." He put the ring on. The magic that left his wand wasn't black and silver; it was a sort of grey colour. "There is a different colour there now. It's as if you are a different person."

Snape's smile was wry. "All I've ever wanted."

Harry looked at him sharply, but no explanation was offered. His eyes were….vulnerable, troubled, and Harry was worried. He knew that Snape would never voluntarily give information about what the matter was; he would wait until he broke, and even then might say nothing. Snape could get information out of Harry, but Harry would never consider forcing Snape to talk. It felt…wrong. Despite Harry being the leader of the Order, Snape was still somehow the person he looked to for approval, and he was his own man. He didn't follow orders. _Except when Dumbledore gives them._

They would leave tomorrow. Harry hoped that Snape would get over whatever was eating him before then. They really couldn't afford breakdowns in such a hostile place…

Snape left the room with his two remaining packages, and Harry scowled and moodily picked at the material of the sofa arm. Fine. Let him be a stubborn git who didn't know when to confide-

He pulled himself short. The description sounded rather close to home to him…Let Snape keep his secrets. Hell knows, he did.

The rest of the day was spent relaxing. All the preparations were made for the trip tomorrow, and Harry wanted to take full advantage of the presence of hot running water and the ability to use magic. He briefly considered combining the two, but hoped he would never have to perform spells underwater. So he was having fun with target practice in the Room of Requirement when Snape entered holding a letter.

"Read this."

Raising an eyebrow, Harry read the letter out loud.

"Dearest Godfather, this is Draco Malfoy then?" Snape nodded once, as if annoyed at Harry's slowness. "I hope you haven't hated your birthday too much. Enclosed is a painting which I hope you will like. I'm having a great time here, talking French, painting, eating and shagging. I feel like a native already." Harry sniggered and continued to read. "I don't really understand what the fuss is with painting. It's easy! But the people who buy it seem to like what I'm doing, and they pay quite well, enough to get me through. The French don't seem to be paying much attention to he war, so I don't really know what's happening. There are a few sympathetic underground movements, but the prevalent attitude seems to be 'How dare an Englishman steal a French name?' I assume that you are well. If you see Potter, I send my regards. Come and visit me when you're next in Paris. I cannot thank you enough for keeping me out of my father's social club. I don't think I would have enjoyed it at all. I apologise for all of the trouble I have caused.

Leonardo Black."

"Well. That's comforting. Draco's making a living as an erotic artist in Paris. Sounds fun." Harry didn't begrudge him it. To have been pressured into killing someone, to have spent a year working out how…

"We could visit him, once this malarkey's over. See the sights."

Snape's eyebrows were nearly into his hairline. "Malarkey? You are referring, of course, to the battle between the world's most powerful wizards? The one that is currently shaking the very foundations of society? The one that will leave no life unaffected before it's over?"

Harry smirked. "Yes, that's the one."

"And you want Draco back here? I mean, I showed you the letter because he's another potential fighter, and I thought you'd want to know." Snape looked straight ahead, avoiding Harry's stare.

"No! I mean, we would welcome him if he did, certainly, but I'm not going to force him to fight! You thought that I'd- I'd use him like a weapon? After all that's happened to me? I'm glad to know he's alright, but he's your godson! You can protect him from this sodding war, as is your right. But let him draw nudes and drink wine. Let him decide his own future. It's about bloody time someone around here got a choice!"

For long moments, Snape simply looked at him. "Potter, you are the most infuriating person I know. Every time I think that I have the measure of you, you go and turn every one of my assumptions on their head."

"I used to find that with you, sir."

"Oh? And what did you do?"

"I gave up on ever working you out, sir. You are a glorious mystery to me. It's going well so far. Happy Birthday."

Leaving the potions master shaking his head, Harry went back to blasting the targets. After a few explosions, Snape joined in, and soon they found themselves embroiled in an impromptu duel using progressively sillier curses. The vision of Snape with pink hair wearing dungarees standing there with bubbles shooting out of the end of his wand was one Harry would not forget for a long time.

My profuse apologies about the delay. I was working out a) what to give Snape and b) how he would react to each of the presents. I hope this makes up for the long time between updates, but I'm trying my best. Don't worry, all of my fics will be completed.

Ooh, and Draco's name? Leonardo da Vinci, and his mother's maiden name. I figured he'd have aspirations towards grandeur. And my apologies to anyone French who might be offended by this. Please don't shoot me.

Next chapter: the Borders.


	9. Chapter 9

Only McGonagall, Hagrid, Dobby and Remus were there to say goodbye as they set off from Hogwarts in the dark of the early morning, a time Ron called 'stupid o'clock', before the sun had even risen. There were tears, of course, Harry cried himself, and Hermione looked a complete mess. Even McGonagall was sniffing surreptitiously. Only Snape remained calm; he was gazing up at the castle as if trying to brand the sight of it into his mind forever. He was standing a little back from the group, arms folded.

"We'll return here." Harry said quietly. "You'll see this again."

"I know. But if I don't, it would be nice to be able to close my eyes and see home." Snape sighed.

"Getting sentimental in your old age?" Harry teased. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

"Good. For a moment, you had me worried, Potter. Thank goodness you're keeping this to yourself." Snape said, sarcasm lacing his voice.

"I know, sometimes I astonish myself." Harry admitted modestly.

"Usually by standing up too fast, or catching your reflection unawares." Snape sneered as they left the wards behind, and he put on his silver ring.

"I know, we can't _all _look this gorgeous." Harry preened, earning himself a cuff around the head from Snape.

They apparated to the border control.

"Oh. Fuck." Harry murmured, eyes wide. There was a high fortified wall running as far as Harry could see, so protected with magic that it hurt Harry's eyes to look at it. Uniformed Aurors stood on top of the wall, interspersed with people Harry assumed were muggle Army men carrying guns.

"This poses an interesting challenge." Snape murmured, as they stood in the queue for the one checkpoint. Harry nodded as the queue moved.

"Right, this is doable. Lockhart, Snape, or Pomfrey?" He whispered to all three. Snape raised an eyebrow. "I mean celebrity, sneering, or medical emergency" he amended hastily.

"Emergency. Speed is of the essence here." Hermione said thinking quickly.

"Delirium spell?" Ron suggested, making Harry wince. He had never liked that one.

"Your healer credentials are in order?" He asked Snape, who nodded.

"Good. Hit me with it." He said, resigned, as he closed his eyes and prepared himself for the murky place where shadows and spectres loomed up as if seen through a foe-glass, terrifying, but unfightable. He swooned back, to be caught in Snape's arms, mind spiraling down to his nightmares.

8-8-8-8-8

"Finite Incantem." Hermione's voice was choked with tears, as Harry came around slowly. His fogged-up brain registered dimly that it must have been bad, because his muscles were seized up, his throat was raw and his face was wet. He opened his eyes, but the light hurt them too much, and he squeezed them shut again. As he tried to move his lips, he felt a shattering pain in his jaw, and was only able to moan inarticulately. _Oh shite. What the hell happened? _He tried to talk once more, but was embarrassed once more by the whimper of pain that escaped his lips. He struggled to sit up, but felt a gentle but forceful hand push him down once more.

"Easy, Potter." Snape said, tone without any of its usual biting quality. In another man, it might have been almost sympathetic. "Episkey" he murmured, and Harry felt the pain leave his jaw.

"What happened?" Harry tried to keep his voice calm, tried to stop the panic, had they been caught? Captured? What had he done? He was in a room, yes, but the floor his cheek was resting on was carpeted. It wasn't a cell then, or if it was, they had very high-class jailers. Harry heard someone go to shut the curtains, and he opened his eyes to cool half-darkness. He sat up, gingerly.

He was in a small bedroom, decorated in chintz that called Petunia Dursley to mind rather forcefully. There was a single bed against one wall, and both Hermione and Ron were sat on it, Ron with his arm around Hermione, who was weeping quietly. Neither of them met his eyes. Snape was standing by the window, looking out of place in the genteel room, with its 'tasteful', stifling furniture and plump cushions. He belonged in cold stone halls and dank, dripping corridors. As the man sensed Harry's eyes on him, he crossed the room and crouched down next to Harry. Ignoring Harry's two friends, he looked deep into Harry's eyes and spoke softly and clearly, as if he were likely to bolt at any instant.

"We're in one of the guest rooms in an inn close to the Welsh border, in one of the wizarding hamlets. Don't worry, you're safe here. Now, as to what's happened…Potter, you were somewhat…agitated whilst delirious. It became necessary to render you unconscious until we could get to safety, because of details you were divulging."

Harry sighed. Of all the times for the man to try and spare his feelings with euphemisms. "In English please, sir. Brutal as you like." He croaked, running a shaking hand through his hair. Snape scowled, hesitant.

"You were spilling out your innermost torments in the presence of others, notably Weasley and Granger. You were agitated, and posed a risk to yourself. I decked you."

Innermost torments…Oh, bugger. Double bugger. Triple, with a twist of vodka and one of those damn pointless little umbrellas.

"How many, sir?" He asked quietly, knowing now why his friends wouldn't look at him.

"All of them." Snape replied, with a twisted little smile. While Harry was digesting this piece of news, Snape drew out a vial of potion. Without questioning him, Harry downed it in one, shuddering slightly at the taste. The pain and muscle stiffness went almost immediately, and Harry found he could think clearly once more. Snape scanned his face and, seeming to find no other aftereffects, stood up and left the room.

As soon as he was gone, Harry stood up and walked over to Hermione and Ron, resigned to the questions and reproaches. Instead, Hermione looked up at him, eyes gentle though shining with tears.

"I guess this explains why you hate to be touched." She observed.

Harry nodded wordlessly, feeling naked, vulnerable, alone. He scuffed at the carpet with his foot, head hung, hands clasped behind his back.

"And the silencing charms and the body-bind whenever we were sleeping in the same room."

Harry's head shot up, surprised that she had noticed. "We saw all this, and wondered what had happened to you. Wondered what sacrifice you had made, that meant you hardly ever laughed, and got scared in crowds. Sometimes, when you were struggling in your nightmares, I'd hold your hand, and stroke your hair, and you called out, to Professor Dumbledore, to Sirius, and when it was really bad, to your mother. And I could do nothing. Nor could Ron."

Tears coursed down Harry's face, as he remembered a soft female voice murmuring words of comfort, pulling him back from his nightmares. He had sometimes thought it was his mother; he couldn't imagine anyone else sounding so tender, so loving. Ron kissed the top of her head, and continued where she had stopped.

"We worked it out, Harry. And we let you keep your secret. We ignored the times when you went off and flew your broom until you were soaking wet, and your muscles were shaking with fatigue so you could barely hold a knife and fork. We'd keep our distance when all- all we really wanted to do was to hug you and tell you everything would be all right. But we had- we never thought it would be that bad. We never thought you had gone through that much, Harry. How are you going to survive, once the war is over and you go back to a normal life?"

Harry wanted to laugh. "Survive? I'll be bloody lucky to live through this, let alone the fight with Voldemort. And 'normal' isn't too high on my list of priorities at the moment." Harry heard the note of bitterness in his voice. _Sorry, Ron. It isn't your fault._

"Then you're going to die." Ron said simply, starkly.

"It took you that long to work this out?" Harry asked, and held his ground as Ron stood up, eyes narrowed.

"You're going to die if you don't hope. I mean, you're practically bloody _looking_ for a way out. The delirium spell, the flying so high it's a wonder you don't collapse from oxygen loss, it's as if you've got a death wish, and it's so hard for us to watch you. Since hearing the prophecy, you seem to have this bloody vainglorious yen to go out in a blaze of light, and we don't want that. We want you to live, and be happy Harry." Ron was earnest, his eyes shone with fervour.

"Even if it meant that the rest of the world was destroyed?" Harry whispered. "Would you choose me over the world?"

Hermione stood and joined Ron. "We've already chosen you, Harry. We've always chosen you."

"Then you're fools. Both of you." Harry turned away, angry at their stupidity.

"And you aren't?" Hermione asked scathingly. "At least we're fools who want to live. I'd rather be a fool who seeks happiness than a fool who seeks death."

"I didn't have a choice. The things I did were absolutely necessary. Don't cheapen them like that." Harry hissed, fists clenched.

"I know that, Harry. But you have a choice now. So what do you want to do? Keep shutting us out, keep on flying so close to the sun, or trust us and think beyond the battle with Voldemort to a time you can stop fighting and just live."

Harry bowed his head and thought. What did he have to live for beyond the last battle? Well, people would stop depending on him once it was over. Not so much hinged on him. Ron and Hermione would get married, and name one of their children for him, Hogwarts would continue, some people would cry for him, yes, but there was no one who needed him to survive. Except…

Except for a surly, truculent man with a twisted sense of humour, who, to the rest of the world was a Death Eater and a traitor, but to Harry was one of the staunchest, bravest supporters of the Light there was. A man he was going to fight tooth and nail to keep from Azkaban.

"I choose living." Harry whispered, raising his head, seeing beyond the hideous flower arrangement to a time when there was nothing to fight. He turned around.

"About sodding time." Ron said, and, slowly, walked up to him and embraced him. Harry forced himself to stay still, to relax into the bond of warmth and trust. "Now, we're going to have some long, dark evenings ahead of us. And you're going to talk. About everything you've kept bottled up. Right?" Harry nodded into his shoulder.

"You sound like McGonagall when you're giving orders." Harry observed, the emotion getting too much for him. Ron blushed furiously.

"I don't! Do I, Hermione?"

Hermione considered this for a few moments. "No, you sound far more manly and…stern than that. I like it." She said coyly. Ron gulped and went even redder.

"Erm, I'm going to get washed and changed, and then go down to the bar." Harry said, as Hermione looked at Ron with a teasing challenge in her eyes. Both took the dismissal with alacrity. Harry decided he'd rather not know exactly how stern Hermione liked Ron, and dedicated himself instead to having a shower. He had a lot to think about.

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Hey there, sorry about the delay. Darn tricksy thing, real life is. Hee hee. But I hope you like this.


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